Veal
by Fangirl Francesca
Summary: My take on what happens after Relevés. SPOILER WARNING.


**SPOILERS FOR 1X12 AHEAD. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.**

** I am split 50/50 on whether Abigail is going to die. I don't want her to die, because I love her one on one interactions with Hannibal and Will, I love Murder Family, I want to see Hannibal treat her as Mischa, and honestly Hannibal grooming her into a serial killer is something I really want to watch. I don't think she's actually dead because of several factors, but at the same time I have this feeling of dread that I know she's met her end. If she is dead, however, I'm 99% sure Will will be hallucinating her like he's done with Garrett Jacob Hobbs.**

** I just need it to be Thursday already. Oh well, enough of my ramblings. On to the story.**

_I'm so sorry, Abigail._

_I'm sorry I couldn't protect you in this life._

Hannibal's cold hand cupped her face, his thumb stroking her smooth cheek. Abigail couldn't look into the eyes of the man who had just said he was going to kill her. She closed her blue eyes, and two tears leaked out from under her eyelids, rolling down her face. His hand moved slowly to her neck, and she felt increasing pressure. This was it, she thought. Abigail took one last shaky breath, and then everything went black.

White. When Abigail woke up, she was staring at a white ceiling, lying in a queen size bed with white bedding, in the most pristine room she had ever been in. The only thing out of place was the windows—or the lack of them. This made no sense to Abigail. Was she dead? Was this heaven?

That was nonsense and she knew it. If she was dead, she most certainly would not be in heaven, unless of course this was hell, in which case it looked like an upscale asylum.

The second thing that occurred to her was that she was disappointed. How fucked up was she to be disappointed that she hadn't been murdered? That was the third thing that occurred to her—Why wasn't she murdered?

The memory of yesterday evening's (who knew if it was even yesterday—Weeks could have passed) conversation came back to her. Hannibal was a serial killer. Involuntarily, Abigail shuddered. She had trusted him, and he was this _monster._ He was a sick, sick person. It was him who had killed Marissa and countless others. Abigail hadn't had much access to the media in the hospital, and besides what Freddie Lounds told her, she didn't know much about what was going on with the investigation. But she was now sure that Hannibal was the Chesapeake Ripper, or the Copy Cat Killer, or maybe even both.

Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she stretched. Every part of her ached, especially her neck. When she stood up, her knees felt weak, but she shuffled her way to the door. The floor was cold on her bare feet, and she noticed she was wearing a plain white shirt and light blue pajamas pants. The clothes she had been wearing previously were nowhere to be found.

The door didn't have a door knob. It was one sided and there was no way for her to get out. She was a prisoner, again. She felt panicked. Where was she? The only thing she could think of to do was bang on the door, and that's what she did. Her hands pounded on the door till they were nearly bleeding, and when they were too numb to carry on, she slumped against the door and slid to the floor. Silently, a cry escaped her lips. The cries quickly became flat out wailing. How had her life become this messed up? It was a tangled web of murderers and mental illness and nightmares.

With no watch or clock or cellphone, there was no way for her to know how much time had passed, but she stopped thinking. Curled up in a fetal position on the floor, she whimpered and buried her damp face in her knees.

The door to the room opened silently, and there he was.

Hannibal Lecter. Psychiatrist. Serial Killer. Kidnapper?

Upon seeing his face, Abigail couldn't help it. She dissolved into tears again.

She crawled across the floor and into a corner. There was no place to run, no place to hide. He was the hunter and she was the prey.

"Abigail." He said her name the same way he had said it the night she killed Nicholas Boyle. Sternly, with no patience for shenanigans of any kind.

"Abigail" he repeated. "You're having a panic attack. I can't communicate with you when you're in this state of mind." He reached into his pocket a pulled out a pill. "This is a Valium. I'm going to have you take it. When it wears off, you'll feel calmer." He held out the pill, but she didn't reach for it. She might be hysterical but the thought of being drugged by him made her blood run cold. He sighed.

"If you want to make this difficult, that's your choice." With one quick motion, one hand was pinching her nose, the other prying her jaw apart. He forced the pill into her mouth and then held his hand firmly over it. She could not breath, and he would not release her till she swallowed. She did.

Then he left. Just as silently as he had come, he left.

Being of very little body mass with no food in her stomach, the pill had a strong effect and she didn't remember what she did under its influence, but when it wore off, she did feel clear-headed. She sat cross legged on the bed, starring at the door. Waiting for his inevitable return.

For the second time the door opened, and he stepped through. She noted he was in the same clothes as before. It was still painful to look at him, and her eyes found a spot on the wall. The bed sunk beneath Hannibal's weight when he sat down next to her.

"Abigail."

"Why am I not dead?"

"Did I say I was going to kill you?"

"Yes, you di-"

"No, I did not." He paused. "Pardon me for cutting you off, my dear. That was rude of me, but you are incorrect. I said I couldn't protect you in this life." Now utterly perplexed, Abigail looked at Hannibal. He continued.

"Again, I am sorry. I tried my hardest, I truly did. But you have a choice to make. You can join me in a new life—my life, and I will protect you, but you'll have to play by my rules, or you can stay in your life, in which case I will kill you, Abigail."

"What are your rules, Hannibal? What is this game?"

Hannibal explained. With every word that came out of his mouth, Abigail felt herself becoming sick.

"How can I stay alive? The FBI knows what I've done, you said so yourself, they're coming for me."

"They're currently searching the woods of Minnesota for your body, actually. As far as they know, you're dead." Her mouth parted in confusion.

"...What's happened? Since we were in the cabin… Where's Will?"

"I returned to Baltimore. I told Jack Crawford I feared Will had killed you in Minnesota. I had planted the idea in his head, but Jack had those suspicions himself. The FBI arrested him for multiple murders and is being held for a psych evaluation as we speak." As Hannibal spoke, Abigail slid her hands into her hair and tugged on it until Hannibal gently pulled her hands away.

"Will is going to go to jail for what you've done."

"Oh, I doubt they'll send him to jail. He's very, very unstable."

"You made him that way!" His face cracked into a sly smirk.

"Abigail, I hope you decide to join me. You're so very bright. We can lead a very…intriguing life together."

"How? You just said I'm presumed dead."

"It won't be easy. You won't be able to leave the house for months. Then one day I'll get offered a sabbatical, someplace far away, like France or Italy, and we'll leave. Just like that."

"This seems like a very developed plan."

"It's been my intention from the very beginning."

So Abigail made her decision. One night in August, the pair slipped into the night, off to Copenhagen. Before their departure, though, they left Will Graham a present.

**So if I was Bryan Fuller, that's how that would all go down. The season finale would be them jet setting off to Europe, with Will barely hanging on in a mental hospital. Then the second season would be Will somehow getting out/escaping and beginning his search for Abigail and Hannibal.**

**But I highly doubt this'll happen.**


End file.
